


Empirical Birthday Wishes

by StainedGlassTractor



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), X-Club, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Birthday, Cooking, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Lemon Cakes, No Plot/Plotless, X-Men Inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28179006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StainedGlassTractor/pseuds/StainedGlassTractor
Summary: Dr. Nemesis, a century-old, Nazi-hunting super genius, and Madison Jeffries, a military and Alpha Flight veteran and a genius in his own right, must face their biggest challenge yet: making a surprise birthday cake for Dr. Kavita Rao.
Kudos: 2





	Empirical Birthday Wishes

**A/N: Hi! So this is just a short, fluffy-ish piece with some of my favorite (criminally underrated) X-Men characters. Alas, my knowledge of the current X-Men timeline is limited. For some basic context to avoid confusion: our main characters are NOT in Utopia, but are currently in Alberta, Canada, at the old Weapon Plus base, where Cyclops moved his X-Men after Utopia was destroyed. Hope that makes sense. There will be another chapter up soon. I hope y’all enjoy, and whether you like it or hate it, please let me know in the comments. All criticism is more than welcome. I can’t improve without it. Thanks!**

A blue truck pulled into the parking lot of a Safeway, and two men stepped out.

“Are we getting a box mix or making it from scratch?” James Bradley asked, slouching against the chilly autumn wind.

“Figured from scratch,” Madison Jeffries replied, making sure his truck was locked. Jeffries only sported a long-sleeved shirt to keep him warm. Bradley, a born and bred Californian, would forever think of those not bothered by cold as an oddity.

“Scratch,” Bradley repeated.

“Yup.”

“And you don’t think that’s… dangerous?”

“Dangerous?”

“I’ve seen you make ramen before. You can start a fire before you even put the noodles in.”

“That was one time, Doc. You need to let things go.”

“I nearly lost my eyebrows from that. I will never let it _go_.”

“I just – aagh. Whatever. Go get a cart, will you?” Jeff fished out the list from his pocket and unfolded it. He heard the Doc muttering at being told what to do, but he got a cart anyway. At least, he approached the cart rack, then stopped to glare at them with his arms folded.

“Doc. What’s the matter now?”

“That,” he wildly gestured to the carts. Jeffries frowned. Sure, when Jeff used his powers, he could tell the seventh one on the left had a few screws loose, and the first one on the right had a squeaky wheel, but Bradley shouldn’t have been able to tell that.

“What’s wrong?” Jeff asked again, getting agitated.

“They’re filthy, Jeffries! There’s a bloody _granola bar wrapper_ in that one, and some foolish doughnut thought it necessary to wipe down _that_ one and then leave the wipe in the cart. And- and _that_ one. God, Jeff, there’s… _fluids_ in that one.”

Jeff saw no… fluids, but Bradley’s eyes were glowing a smidge, so he was probably using his strange superpowered vision.

“What kind of fluids?” Jeff asked warily.

“Saliva. No doubt some codger let their child drool over the whole thing and decided it was better to let it crust over than clean it up.”

“Well. That’s kinda gross.”

“No doubt. We can’t put the ingredients in there without heavily disinfecting it. I mean, I _could’ve_ brought my bottle of iodine, but _someone_ wouldn’t let me—”

“You don’t need to take that iodine everywhere you go, Doc! And I’m pretty sure that’ll screw with the metal. Here, why don’t you hurry and find a cart you _do_ like and then I’ll push it. So you don’t get germs or whatever.”

“…Fine.”

“But try not to mess up all the carts, please.”

Bradley didn’t respond to that. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and marched along the rows of carts like a drill sergeant. Jeff tried to picture Bradley as a sergeant. No, he couldn’t. Bradley would never make it in the military; that’d require him to take orders. Probably for the best. Jeff knew that most sergeants put on an act when they hollered at people. Bradley had to put on an act to _not_ act like… well, himself.

It had been two minutes. People were beginning to stare at Bradley, who was pondering over a small section of carts. Some employee, just a teenager from the looks of it, had come outside and was sheepishly approaching the Doc. _Oh no_ , Jeff thought, _Bradley, please don’t ruin this kid’s day._

“Umm…” he began, “Sir?”

Bradley gave him a venomous look, most likely for breathing his oxygen, and went back to the carts.

“Sir?” he tried again.

“What?”

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“No. I’m looking for a cart that isn’t awful.”

“Oh.”

The kid looked inside the store, where there was an older-looking employee gesturing at him. He looked back at Bradley.

“Well… have you found one?”

“Does it _look_ —”

“Yeah, he found one,” Jeffries cut in. He grabbed the first cart he saw – the one with the granola bar wrapper – and continued:

“Sorry for the trouble. We’ll go ahead and get inside now.”

Bradley just about had a vein popping from his neck. The boy had nodded awkwardly and sidled back into the store, but the Doc marched right over to Jeff.

“What the hell? Do you _know_ what’s _on_ that?” he wildly gesticulated to the entire cart, but Jeff assumed he meant the wrapper.

“It’s just a wrapper, Doc. Calm down,” Jeff gingerly picked up the wrapper and tossed it in the bin next to the entrance. Then he took a wipe from the nearby dispenser and proceeded to clean it.

“Look, I’m even cleaning it. Better?”

“No,” Bradley sulked.

“Dammit, Doc, it took me forever to get you to come here because you said it’d take too long, and now we spend fifteen minutes fighting over carts. Grow up, for God’s sake,” Jeffries raised his voice at the end there. He wasn’t in the habit of doing that. It was enough to stun Bradley into silence, at least long enough for them to get inside. Jeff handed the Doc the shopping list.

“What’s first?”

Bradley leered down at the paper and huffed.

“What is it now?”

“She likes lemon cake?”

“It’s lemon raspberry.”

“It’s autumn. This is a summer cake. Are raspberries even in season?”

“I dunno. I’m sure they – oh, what does it matter? That’s her favorite cake.”

“How do you know?”

“She _told_ me, Doc,” Jeff rubbed his hand over his face. He should’ve asked Mr. Lensherr to come with him instead. Or the portable toaster he made.

Bradley looked like he was about to complain again, but instead he paused and straightened his tie.

“Oh. All right,” he mumbled. Jeff didn’t remark on the possibly jealous glint in the Doc’s eye.

“So what’s first on the list?”

“…Butter. But we’re in produce, so go get the lemons and berries.”

They went about in that way for some time without any hiccups. Jeffries was hyper-aware of people staring in their direction. It was most likely because of the Doc – he spoke loud and fast, and he was also bizarrely overdressed for the grocery store. At least Jeffries convinced him to lose the fedora. _That_ was an uphill battle (“I won’t be wearing it inside, anyway. I have _manners_ , Jeffries!”) Other than that, things ran smoothly. Until the godforsaken lemon curd.

“It says to get lemon _curd_ ,” Bradley said, emphasizing the word “curd” more than the word “lemon.”

“You mean lemon curd?” Jeff asked, pronouncing it normally.

“I just said that. Pay attention.”

“Right… Okay, where’s that?”

“How the hell should I know? You think I work here?”

Jeffries pinched the bridge of his nose. They began their search.

They looked in the baking aisle, and then around produce, and back in the baking aisle, then near the jams, and found nothing. Bradley even employed his enhanced vision to scan through the aisles. Clearly, it wasn’t enhanced enough to notice the little kid right in front of him who had seen his already unnaturally blue eyes glowing.

She tugged on her mother’s sleeve.

“Mommy, Mommy, that man’s eyes got shiny like a light!”

Bradley frowned down at the little girl.

“Hon, no they didn’t,” the mother grabbed the girl’s hand, “I’m sorry. She’s got a really active imagination.”

For once, Bradley behaved like a normal person and not… himself.

“That’s quite all right,” he shoved his hands in his pockets, “Children ought to have active imaginations.”

Bradley nodded at the mother and child and followed Jeff to another aisle. A few meters away, Bradley glanced back warily and glared at Jeff.

“Dammit, why didn’t you tell me there was a bloody _child_ in the middle of the goddamn aisle?!” he stage-whispered.

Yup, he was back to himself.

“Figured you’d notice. She was right in front of you.”

“Why would I _notice_? I was busy looking for the godforsaken lemon curd!” he emphasized each word and punctuated it by whacking the list against the shopping cart. He calmed down a bit once they got to the bread aisle. Bradley had taken to sighing dramatically like some sort of soap opera protagonist.

“Do we really _need_ lemon curd?”

“I dunno. I’m not a baker. Don’t think we should risk it, though. I read somewhere that baking’s more of a science and cooking’s more of an art.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“It means I think you gotta follow baking instructions more than cooking instructions. You can tweak your cooking stuff more than the baking stuff.”

“Is that the philosophy you ascribe to? Is that how you managed to set fire to a pot of boiling water? Because cooking’s an _art_?—”

“Oh, hush, Doc, please. We gotta ask someone for help.”

They looked around and found a girl stocking shelves. According to her nametag, she was Pilar. Bradley looked her up and down, then paused a meter or so away from her.

“Soup,” he said in greeting.

The girl froze, “Um… excuse me?”

“You’re stocking soup.”

“Uh-huh…”

Strangely, Bradley elected to stop talking after that, so Jeffries took over.

“Miss, we’re lookin’ for pre-made lemon curd. D’you know where we could find some?”

“Did you try the baking aisle?”

“Yup.”

“Could it be in the jams?”

“We looked there. Nothing.”

“Hmm… I’m not really sure where it would be. I’m sorry, I’m new here,” she looked at her watch and paled.

“What’s the matter?” Bradley asked.

“Oh, nothing. I’m just late. I have to fill in for someone at bagging,” she started stocking the shelves at warp speed, “I’m really sorry I couldn’t help you. I think Kumar in produce can help. He’s worked here forever.”

They thanked her and went back to produce. The Doc was strangely quiet.

“Soup?” Jeff asked.

“What about it?”

“I dunno. You just said, ‘Soup’ to her.”

“Well, that’s what she was doing. I was trying to make conversation!”

“Conversation. Huh.”

Bradley rolled his eyes, as if Jeffries was pressing for answers.

“If you _must_ know something that’s none of your business,” Bradley lowered his voice, “I just saw her genome, right?”

“She a mutant too?” Jeffries asked, a bit too loud. A man examining some pre-made croissants glanced at them.

Bradley slugged Jeffries in the arm.

“Must you speak so loudly?” he hissed.

“Ow,” Jeff rubbed his arm. Bradley took a deep breath.

“No, she’s not a mutant... But I think we’re related.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Uh… great-great grandchild or some horrendous shit like that.”

“Wow.”

With how much and how often Bradley acted like a methed-up five-year-old, it always caught Jeffries off-guard at how old he really was. And it was really hard to picture him with a bunch of sweethearts in Argentina in the fifties and sixties. Jeffries wanted to ask if he still knew the great-great grandmother, but they had reached the produce section and found Kumar spraying the cabbages.

“Mister,” Jeff began, “Do you know if you sell lemon curd?”

“Lemon curd. The pre-made stuff, right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That would be…” Kumar led them through produce until they reached the lemons. On a small shelf beside them stood jars and jars of lemon curd. They had passed this place about half a dozen times. So much for their mutant super-intellect.

“Pick a check-out line,” Bradley said after they collected their lemon curd, “I’m getting some drinks.”

By ‘some,’ he meant a dozen, and by ‘drinks,’ he meant Red Bull and cold brew. That man had serious caffeine problems. Jeffries may have accidentally picked the check-out line that Pilar was bagging at. In front of him was an older couple.

Bradley came back with his armfuls of caffeine and spilled them into the cart.

“So we’re making this thing tonight or tomorrow?” Doc asked.

“I was thinking tonight so if we –”

The Doc once again punched Jeff in the arm.

“Ow.”

“Why’d you go in _this_ aisle?!” he hissed.

“Because – I dunno, just so you could see her one more time. Maybe you guys could talk to each other?”

“What the hell am I supposed to say – I know I should be dead, but I’m not and screwed your great-great grandma eighty years ago. Let’s do brunch!”

Jeff shrugged, “Look, I’m sorry. But you were acting weird around her so maybe now’s an opportunity to be normal. If you really don’t wanna talk to her, we can go to a different—”

“Fine. We’ll stay.”

“Okay.”

It was when they started unloading their cart that they heard a commotion. Clearly, the older couple weren’t fans of the way Pilar was packing their things.

“Twice I told you I wanted my orange juice _double-bagged_ , Miss… Miss _Pillar_. How many times will it take you to get it right?” the woman said.

“Right. Exactly. And you’ve been taking so long, too. Can’t even do it right. What the hell have you been doing?” the man added.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m new.”

“So? They shouldn’t have hired you if you were just going to take up people’s time.”

“Sir, she’s new. And bagging isn’t even her main job. She’s doing the best she can,” the cashier said.

“This isn’t rocket science,” the man laughed, “It’s a simple matter of bagging groceries correctly. I like to believe anyone can do it, even someone like _her._ And I don’t like your sass, young man.”

The cashier frowned, “My… sass?”

“Did I stutter? I’d like to speak to your manager.”

Jeffries rubbed the back of his head and offered a weak, “Excuse me,” so as to come to the two employee’s defense, when a nuclear explosion went off to his right.

“What is going on?” Bradley shouted. His face was bright red as he marched forward to the couple.

“You assholes are the only ones taking up anyone’s time. Got it?”

The couple gaped, affronted. The woman was about to speak, but Bradley shot a look at her.

“Can it, lady! Quit acting like you’re doing nothing wrong. And what’s the big idea, talking like she can’t do bagging? ‘Even someone like _her’ –_ What the hell does that mean? The hell is wrong with people like you? Wasting everyone’s time and whining like you’re the only ones who have somewhere to be.”

The couple’s faces were growing red. The man tried to offer a rebuttal, but no luck.

“You two sitting here like the poor man’s Statler and Waldorf, harping on some sixteen-year-old’s bagging skills. What’s so important that you can’t wait for her to bag your five dozen eggs and your strangely large jar of mustard? What, you two having a devilled egg party tonight while you watch Dateline? Huh?!

“You mentioned rocket science. You know, that guy,” here he nodded towards Jeffries, “and I have a project to work on involving _literal_ rocket science. What do you two do, accounting? And you don’t see us complaining about how long it’s taking because we don’t have seven-foot poles up our asses. Watching reruns of _Gilligan’s Island_ isn’t exactly of paramount importance. Now quit harassing literal children trying to make some honest money.”

By the time Bradley finished his tirade, half the people at check-out were staring at him. Kumar had found his way out of produce and stopped right in front of the group.

“Oh, are you a manager? These… _people_ ,” Bradley spat, “Were causing a commotion.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Those fucking _assholes_ ,” Bradley kicked the tire.

“I agree, but please don’t kick my truck,” Jeffries placed a bag in the back. He needed to find the eggs.

“I didn’t even assault anyone this time. Why did they think it wise to ban me from the store?”

Jeffries chose to ignore the “ _this time_ “ remark, “I don’t know.”

“The girl better not have gotten fired for that. I’ll sue.”

“You’ll sue?”

“Yes. Get Matthew Murdock on the phone. No one wants to argue with a blind man.”

“Uh…”

“Hell, I’ll pop out my eyes. _Two_ blind men have near-unlimited argument power.”

“Please… don’t do that.”

Jeffries had only once walked in on Bradley cleaning out his eye sockets – nightmare fuel for decades. Apparently for all their sleekness, his cybernetic eyes still needed to be taken out and cleaned every month or so. It still made him shudder.

“But really, it’s-it’s hogwash. Utter bullshit. Those people waited like two minutes in line and couldn’t even do that without complaining. What do they expect? A snap of the fingers and everything’s bagged? Like in that one show with Elizabeth Montgomery. What’s it called?”

“I dunno, Doc. Just don’t know.”

He snapped his fingers, “ _Bewitched._ There it is. Oh, here are the eggs. I’ll put them in the front.”

“Thanks,” Jeffries said.

But before Bradley could open the passenger door, he froze. Jeff looked up and saw Pilar approaching them. She waved shyly.

“Hi.”

“Afternoon,” Bradley said.

“Um, I just wanted to say thanks for sticking up for me.”

“Of course. You’re not in trouble, are you?”

“No. I’m good. Sorry you got kicked out. And banned…”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Not the last.”

“Oh. Okay. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. As long as you’re not fired or anything. No skin off my teeth.”

“Thanks. And no, I’m not fired. Also… uh, I just thought you might appreciate this – after you left the wife asked her husband, ‘How’d he know we were watching _Gilligan’s Island_?’”

Bradley smiled at that and tapped his head.

“I’ve learned there are two types of people in this world. Those who watch _Gilligan’s Island_ on Thursday nights, and those with lives*.”

Pilar laughed, “Well, thanks again.”

“Anytime.”

She turned to leave. Bradley opened his mouth, but he didn’t say anything. He watched her go.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

There was either an accident or a moose crossing on the highway, because they had been stuck in traffic for twenty minutes. Jeffries hoped the perishables wouldn’t go bad. They had a good distance to travel, and Illyana had made it clear she wasn’t about to teleport them home. Bradley was being uncharacteristically silent.

“So,” Jeffries began. Bradley merely glanced at him.

“Um… you didn’t tell her.”

“She wouldn’t believe it,” he said flatly, “And even if she did, what would that do? Not like we’re really family, outside of blood.”

“I mean… maybe she’d – “ Jeff stopped himself.

More silence. Jeffries tried to break it again:

“Have… I mean, you’ve been around a while. Has something like this happened before?”

“Sure. A few times.”

“And you’ve never told them?”

“I… no. Never.”

Jeff couldn’t tell if Doc was lying or not.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway. I… I was never much of a family man type. I mean, I never meant to _have_ any children or grandchildren or.. et cetera, in the first place. But they’re better off without me mucking up their lives.”

“I think you’d be an all right family man.”

“Don’t flatter me.”

“I’m serious. You could teach 'em, like, first aid, and how to tie a tie, and you’d raise hell if anyone ever gave ‘em shit.”

Bradley sighed, “I guess.”

“You’re a good guy, Doc. You’re an ass, sure, but people could do worse than you.”

Wow, this wasn’t going well. Jeff wasn’t about to sugarcoat things.

More silence. And then Bradley cleared his throat.

“Er… Madison?”

“Yup?”

“Thanks.”

“No problem, Doc.”

“Also—” here he slugged Jeff in the arm.

“Ow!”

“—slug bug yellow, no slug backs.”

***A/N: The author holds no ill will towards those who watch _Gilligan's Island_ on Thursday nights.**


End file.
